


Because, Blue

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 22:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18061091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Zeke asks about favorite colors.





	Because, Blue

**Author's Note:**

> femslash feb left me p burned out ahaha
> 
> i've been trying to hack away at this other one-shot (it's a post-game thing) but things are going slow so i thought i'd do a simple dumb thing to get the rhythm going
> 
> edited cuz i forgot it's supposed to be G-rated and nia's mouth

Zeke calls their table the _Grown-ups Table_ , which just goes to show how un-grown-up it actually is. Certainly, it could be debatable, because technically— well, it’s just Zeke’s fault. For calling it that.

Nia made a point of emphasizing how unnecessary it was, anyway.

Not many restaurants have tables big enough to seat every Driver and Blade and then some, so splitting up to be seated between two or three is normal. This time, Zeke slams himself down in a chair beside Nia, with Dromarch at her other side and Mòrag and Brighid already seated opposite of them.

So, sure, they could be the _Grown-ups Table._

“Not counting you, of course,” Zeke says, gesturing at Nia.

Nia bristles. “I’m not a kid.”

“That’s exactly what a kid would say, I say!”

“You wanna go?!”

“Could we enjoy our dinner in relative silence, for once?” Brighid snaps. “Or one of you can go sit with the _children._ ”

At the other table, Rex looks up and waves with a cheerful smile.

“No, thanks,” Nia rolls her eyes. “Tora chews with his mouth wide open and it’s bloody repulsive. He’s got worse table manners than you, Zeke.”

“Oi! I’ll have you reminded that I’m a Prince!”

“An exiled Prince!” Pandoria calls from the other table.

“Shut iiiit!”

Ah, well, it’s not like they could’ve expected anything less. Mòrag delicately places a hand over Brighid’s wrist and that seems to placate her, somewhat. Sleep is their only respite from the rabble, these days. She takes a bite of her food and chews slowly, giving Brighid a meaningful look. _Don’t escalate them_ , she seems to be saying, and Brighid sighs.

“Anyway!” Zeke says, mashing at his food with the bottom of his spoon. “The Grown-ups Table needs a little grown-up conversation, wouldn’t you all agree?”

“Shellhead, I swear if you—“

“We’ll start off easy!” Oh, wonderful, now he’s pointing his messy spoon at each of them. At least Dromarch has the privilege of being able to duck under the table. “Your favorite color! Simple, yeah?”

“Favorite color— you’re kidding,” Nia snorts. “That’s your idea of adults’ chat? Who cares about that sort of thing?”

“Mine… is the deep stygian gleam of pure obsidian. It’s that gloomy mood at the zenith of midnight, when the moon is shrouded by clouds and the world is enveloped in…” Zeke makes some sort of pose with his arms, half-rising out of his seat. “ _Darkness._ ”

“Black’s not a proper color, you big oaf.”

“Pah! Like you could come up with a better answer!”

“I’m hardly a child, so I don’t really care,” Nia says. “All colors are pretty in their own way. Picking one from the bunch is a waste of time.”

“ _Boring._ That’s what you are! Grumpy cat!” Before Nia can retort with a hiss or snap, Zeke turns his spoon to Mòrag. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna follow her example, Mòrag. Here I am, awaiting your verdict with such high expectations….”

To Brighid’s exasperation, Mòrag actually sets down her utensils and touches her chin in thought. “Actually, my favorite color used to be red. Red is often used in many of Mor Ardain’s motifs.”

“And then you grew up and stopped bothering with silly things like that,” Nia suggests.

“No,” Mòrag says so matter-of-factly, in that infuriatingly matter-of-fact way she does. “Then I met Brighid, and my favorite color came to be blue.”

Brighid promptly chokes on her food.

Zeke makes some sort of pained grimace and cradles his head in one hand, muttering; “You’re seriously gonna say something like _that_ with a straight face…?”

“Yup. It’s official. I’ve lost my appetite. Oh, will you two do that _away_ from the table!”

Mòrag, unusually flustered, leads Brighid (who is still wracked over with a coughing fit) away to find some water, an arm wrapped around her. Sometimes they all forget that it’s… like that, because they’re usually so skilled at being discreet, but sometimes. Sometimes, Mòrag will say something without any intended meaning and Nia groans.

The rest of their dinner is spent in relative silence, save for the occasional will-you-pass-the-salt as Zeke and Nia pick at their meals.

Beneath the table, Dromarch sulks.

“Nobody is curious about _my_ favorite color…?”


End file.
